


bench

by dancedanceresolution



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: (bc that's totally a thing just like mild hot sauce), Canon Compliant, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Mild Fluff, S3E21, also mild angst bc you know me, b(redacted)h, but nothing too heavy, internalised heteronormativity, sorry mattie no gay rats in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancedanceresolution/pseuds/dancedanceresolution
Summary: On tumblr, Luke Mullen told us that something would happen in episode 321 at a b(redated)h. Tumblr has narrowed the options down to bench, booth, and beach, so I'll be writng a fic for each one.--TJ and Cyrus meet up at the park bench.





	bench

**Author's Note:**

> comment to let me know if you think this needs an epilogue. see bottom notes for more explanation. 
> 
> thanks for reading :)

Cyrus collapsed onto his bed. School had just ended—it was only 3:50—but he was more exhausted than ever.

He laid on his back, staring at the blank ceiling above him. His nose itched, but he didn’t feel like lifting up his arm to scratch it. He scrunched up his face in a futile attempt to scratch it.

Maybe he should cry. The tears didn’t feel inevitable, but it wasn’t like they were impossible either. His parents said that a good cry was always beneficial.

But did he have the energy to cry? His body didn’t have the energy to shake and his nose didn’t have the energy to sniff away the snot that comes with a good, ugly cry.

No, he wasn’t going to cry. It was simply too much work.

Some time passed before Cyrus heard the pierce _ding_ of his phone, which interrupted his spiraling thoughts. He slowly hoisted himself up to grab his cell, and the screen displayed a message:

**tj <3**: meet me at the spoon?

                                _read 3:42p.m._

 

Honestly, Cyrus just _couldn’t_ right now. He couldn’t see TJ. He couldn’t text TJ back. He couldn’t even delete the little heart he’d put next to TJ’s name last week, the heart that Cyrus felt an overwhelming urge to get rid of. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

So the message was left unanswered, and Cyrus flopped back down on his bed. He started mentally reciting some prayers in Hebrew that he didn’t understand; that always managed to put him asleep.

It’s just that when he thought of those prayers, he thought of the Shiva, and when he thought of the Shiva, gosh, he thought of so many things. He thought about his Bubbe Rose and how he missed her so much that his heart ached. He thought of coming out to Jonah and the whole mess of coming out to his family that yet was to come. He thought about TJ. He thought about TJ’s generous smile as he presented the grieving Goodman family with genuinely homemade challah bread. He thought about that sweet and caring look that graced TJ’s face as Cyrus secretly observed TJ opening the champagne bottle just enough so that Cyrus could get that special moment. He thought of the small smile on TJ’s face as he watched the elated Cyrus open the bottle. He thought of TJ—TJ, the boy who sometimes looked at Cyrus in a way that made him feel like he could melt. The boy that was just so cute that it hurt.

Now it hurt for other reasons.

He thought of TJ, TJ, TJ…

A single tear rolled down his face.

 

-

 

Cyrus left TJ on read. Figures. Frankly, he deserved it.

Part of him was glad. He didn’t have the energy to walk to the Spoon and face Cyrus or his sister’s inquisitive looks, as she was on duty waitressing there now.

And he thought back to the look on Cyrus’s face—betrayal, disappointment, hurt. He looked so small, so defeated. TJ couldn’t forgive himself.

He didn’t even know why he agreed to do Kira’s stupid costume.

Well, he was lying to himself.

He knew very well why. Kira thought that he was one of _those_ guys, and he—he just had to prove her wrong. Set the record straight: TJ Kippen is _straight_. He and Cyrus are just friends.

Even more pressing than the guilt TJ felt was the fear. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but he was terrified. He’d spent hours thought spiraling over his whole situation, about he’d never felt that “crush” type of stuff before with a girl. He’d never gotten weak knees, never stumbled over his words.

And he’d never _really_ experienced it with a guy either. There was this one time that a normal conversation with a guy made him a bit flustered in what he guessed could be considered a “crush” way, but TJ didn’t find the dude cute or anything. And how when he and Cyrus were practically cuddling on the couch that one time, he felt acutely aware of everything. And that one time one Cyrus’s hand brushed by his and he felt electricity, just for a second.

But he didn’t like Cyrus. That time that they were nearly cuddling was platonic, and the reason TJ felt that way was because he didn’t want to move and disturb Cyrus. That time that Cyrus’s touch felt electric was just because Cyrus’s hand was really warm and he was a bit cold.

For one day, TJ had spent the time admitting to himself that he liked boys. And it was almost like he saw the world differently—Kai’s smile, George’s figure, Cyrus’s all-around cuteness.

But the reason he was noticing these things was not because he liked boys. He was not gay. ( _Gay_ —the word felt sticky and heavy on his tongue, like he was seven-years-old again and somewhat guiltily experimenting with cuss words.) It was just because Kai had a great smile—that’s a perfectly platonic thing to notice—and he wanted George’s figure himself, it was just some envy. And Cyrus—well, he felt that way about Cyrus because he was _telling_ himself to like boys. Plain and simple.

The reason TJ physically hurt when Cyrus left him on read was because he was guilty about hurting his platonic friend.

Again, plain and simple.

Was it bad that the next thought that ran across his head was that he wanted to kiss Cyrus? Just once. It would make everything so much easier if he could just kiss Cyrus and confirm to himself that he didn’t like boys.

TJ subconsciously bit his lip.

He stood up, his back slightly sore from slouching on his bed for the past half hour, doing nothing but ruminating. He exited his bedroom and padded down the stairs to the kitchen, wanting nothing more than to eat his feelings in peace.

“TJ?” he heard his dad call out.

So much for that.

After a relatively quick exchange over TJ’s lousy grades and “lack of effort at life,” part of TJ felt angry and fed up, but larger part echoed the meaning behind his father’s words: _You are a disappointment._

And suddenly, TJ felt the urge to cry. Because of his dad and because of his hopelessness and because of his guilt and because of _Cyrus_.

So he walked out of the door and ended up at the park.

Cyrus’s spot.

Even his subconscious was betraying him.

 

-

 

Cyrus’s step-mom had gotten home about fifteen minutes earlier, and Cyrus was still locked up in his bedroom reciting words that he hoped would put him to sleep. His step-mom walked up to his room and gently knocked on the door. When the boy responded with a quiet “No thank you” to her offer of a home-made muffin, she knew something was up. Her standard advice followed: “If you’re panicking or ruinating, work on something rhythmic like easy math or baking. If you’re mentally tired, go on a walk to refresh. And remember, I’m always here to talk to.”  

So Cyrus, predictably, went to the park, and being too exhausted to swing, he sat down on the dark green bench that was positioned at the edge of the playground. Shaded by a tree, Cyrus closed his eyes and listened to everything around him, the sounds reminding him that the earth was still moving.

 

-

 

TJ kicked the mulch as he slowly walked towards the swings. As he turned around to sit on the swing, he sucked in a breath—there sat Cyrus, on a bench just a few feet away. He was sitting upright with his eyes closed; maybe he was asleep, and TJ could walk away without being noticed.

TJ told his feet to move, to walk away, but he just stood there. Watching Cyrus for no reason.

And waves of guilt crashed over him like a tsunami and a hurricane and a monsoon.

So he stood there, paralyzed with emotion.

 

-

 

Cyrus wasn’t exactly asleep, but he wasn’t exactly awake either. When he heard the sound of a shoe numbly kicking the wood chips of the playground, he figured it was just another angsty teen coming to the swings to think.

A minute or so passed without the familiar creaking of the swing flying back and forth.

Out of curiosity, Cyrus opened his eyes ever so slightly. And saw TJ Kippen. Standing there. Staring at him.

Honestly? Cyrus was just too worn out to be surprised by the sight of TJ.

TJ, on the other hand, was not. His initially shocked countenance tried to recompose itself as he croakily said, “Hey.”

“TJ.” Cyrus sat up a little straighter, opening his eyes and coming out of his daze.

“Cy.” TJ opened his mouth and took in a breath, as if about to speak, but his lips faltered and closed. Finally, he managed to get out, “I—I should get going…”

“No,” Cyrus responded, his voice full of newfound strength.

“Cyrus, I—I just, I’m not in the best place to talk to you about this right now and I just—”

“That’s not good enough. TJ, I know it’s just a costume, but…”

The silence was thick and uncomfortable.

“I get it. I really do,” TJ said, his voice breathy. It felt as if a brick rested at the top of his chest.

“I know that you’re popular, TJ, but I thought you actually cared about me,” Cyrus whispered weakly.

“I do, I just—” TJ began, but he was interrupted by Cyrus’s voice, quiet and breathy.

“You just care about me _less_ than Popular-Basketball-Friend?” Cyrus took the pause as an answer.

“Kira,” TJ interjected suddenly. His face was red; tears were coming.

“Kira,” Cyrus repeated tonelessly.

TJ tried to appear nonchalant as he continued, “She was gonna say some stuff about me. And I just—I’m not that guy, Cyrus. I’m not—” TJ stopped himself before he could say the word. “I’m not into guys.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

TJ wondered to himself why Cyrus’s last words sounded a bit exasperated.  

“She was going to… I dunno know, I just—she just made it seem like I had to prove that to her. By doing a costume with her.”

Cyrus swallowed. “Fine.” He leaned back his head and closed his eyes again, wanting to shut off the world and shut off the tears he knew were coming.

TJ considered his options—he could go home and have to explain to a yelling father why he was crying, or he could stay here and cry in public next to Cyrus.

So he gingerly sat down on the park bench next to Cyrus. After a tense silence, the dam of TJ’s strength broke, and his tears flowed freely. “I think I might be that guy though,” he whispered. “I think I might like boys. But it’s new and foreign and it seems just so wrong to me, and I’m scared. I’m so fricking scared,” he said, his breath now choppy and shallow. “And Kira… So I just…”

Cyrus opened his eyes, now glistening with the beginning of tears, and gave TJ a caring look.

His hand moved slightly until it rested atop TJ’s.

TJ wasn’t crying anymore, but judging by his turbulent breath and shaking body, Cyrus sensed that the other boy might be on the verge of a panic attack.

With the way his heart was madly hammering inside his chest, and the way his lungs felt like they could only hold one small breath at a time, Cyrus thought one might be coming on him too.

TJ shifted towards him, and Cyrus’s heart started going crazy for a different reason as the boy got closer and closer.

“We’re going to be okay,” Cyrus said, calming himself down. “You’re going to be okay and I’m going to be okay and everything is going to be okay.”

TJ’s vision was going a bit blotchy, a common symptom of a panic attack, but he managed to muster a small smile.

Maybe a little part of him was actually starting to believe Cyrus’s words.  

 

-

 

Cyrus was once again sprawled across his bed, this time distressed over his declining Biology grade, when his phone let out the familiar _ding_. The screen lit up to reveal:

 

 **tj** : bench?

 

Cyrus typed up a quick response, appearing to the relieved TJ:

 

 **underdog/cy-guy/muffin kid** : i’ll be there in twenty

 

Three days had passed since the boys confronted each other about costume day. They had sat on the bench for a minute or two as Cyrus returned to a calm state, but once Cyrus realized that TJ was only getting worse, he decided it would be best for TJ to go home. He called Amber—“Hey, I’m walking TJ home right now; I think he’s having a minor panic attack”—and the boys were met at the front door by a concerned Amber, ready to sneak her brother past their father and into the solitude of his room. After receiving a “thank you” from Amber, Cyrus walked home himself, feeling a million emotions swimming around in his stomach.

TJ might be gay.

But TJ was so terrified by that fact, let alone telling Cyrus, that he had a panic attack.

Should Cyrus have come out to TJ then? Would that have helped TJ feel less alone, less like a freak? Giving a friendly face to the word “gay” may have helped TJ be less scared of the idea. Maybe TJ’s panic was just a symptom of internalized homophobia or internalized heteronormativity; plenty of people struggled with that, and there was no shame to it.

Cyrus put on a new pair of skinny jeans and an artsy Jon Bellion t-shirt before heading out the door. He tried to take his time, but the nervousness and excitement fluttering in his chest seemed to propel his feet. Cyrus glanced at his watch as he entered the park—he was ten minutes early, so he sat on the swings and quietly sang to himself, reminiscing about that time a few months ago when TJ approached him and heard his juvenile swing song. Soon enough, they were best friends.

The smile that the fond memory had brought to Cyrus’s face began to fade, replaced with concern. Were he and TJ friends at all now? If TJ was that scared by his identity, would he want to associate with the boy he had come out to?

And had Cyrus forgiven TJ for Costume Day yet? In theory, of course he had, especially once he understood TJ’s motives, but wanting to forgive TJ was much easier than actually forgiving him, letting go of his remaining bits of hurt and reservation.

 

-

 

Meanwhile, TJ stood in front of his mirror agonizing over his appearance. Not wanting to be late, he eventually decided on slim jeans and an oversized Loyola University sweatshirt overtop a plain dark green t-shirt.

As he exited his bedroom, his saw Amber give him a small smile. Slightly more reassured, he began to walk to the park.

He didn’t know how much Amber knew about his whole, well, situation. After Cyrus dropped him off after the panic attack, Amber walked him to his room and stayed with him until his breathing steadied. “You need to talk about it?” TJ shook his head. Of all the people he could confide in, his lesbian sister was at the top of the list, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that word—“gay”—out loud.

If he still wasn’t ready to admit it yet, though, why did he invite Cyrus to the bench?

Perhaps more importantly, why was he filled with butterflies at the thought of meeting Cyrus on that bench? Nervousness, he rationalized. (But another debatably less rational part of TJ asked him why he spent so long picking out an outfit and meticulously styling his hair, all in preparation of seeing Cyrus.)

TJ’s breath hitched when he saw Cyrus peacefully swinging, and he was suddenly flooded with memories. “Hi,” he said quietly.

Cyrus looked up, giving TJ a small smile.

“‘Dying in LA’.”

A puzzled look appeared on Cyrus’s face.

“You were humming that.”

“Oh.”

“My go-to angst song, too.”

Cyrus smiled at that, a true smile that spread across his face and made little crinkles appear around his eyes. The smile’s remnants continued to dance on his face as TJ waved his hand toward the bench. Cyrus followed.

Cyrus was the second one to sit down, and he had to pause for a moment—how close should he sit to TJ? He didn’t want to make the other boy uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to seem uncomfortable or like he was avoiding TJ. Or even worse—he didn’t want to create that “two bros chillin’ in a hot tub five feet apart because it isn’t gay” type vibe.

He ultimately decided on “close friends” distance. Not _super_ close, but not super far either.

“So,” TJ said, looking ahead of him.

“So,” Cyrus responded, his speech staccato.

After a considerable pause, TJ turned around to face Cyrus. Cyrus, the boy who could bring a genuine smile to his face. Cyrus, the boy who made him lose track of time. Cyrus, the boy who made him feel open and alive and free…

“Cyrus,” TJ whispered. His voice was one of surprise and realization and hope.

And then TJ saw Cyrus shiver. He immediately began to take off his sweatshirt, revealing a hunter green Old Navy tee whose color matched the “Loyola” inscription on his sweatshirt. “Here,” he said, handing it over.

Is it bad that Cyrus’s first response was to smile as his mind sarcastically said, _Well this isn’t gay_? He slipped the oversized sweatshirt over his narrow shoulders with a small “thank you.” It smelled like old records and fabric softener and Cyrus honestly felt a bit dizzy.

TJ tried his best to ignore the slight blush he saw appear on his friend’s face.

“Can I kiss you?” Okay. Well, TJ had no idea where that came from.

“W-what?” Cyrus said, stunned.

In a moment of panic, TJ broke eye contact. A second later, when he took a furitive glance back at Cyrus, he saw the other boy observing the park around him. TJ mirrored him, taking in every detail of his surroundings, noting everything in its perfection in the seconds after _he asked a boy if he could kiss him._

There was a birds’ nest in the “a” of the Haircuttery across the street. The sun was on the cusp of setting. A slight wind was rustling the trees’ leaves and blowing through Cyrus’s hair and—

Cyrus was looking at him again.

Correction, Cyrus’s eyes were closed and he was leaning towards TJ.

Correction, both TJ and Cyrus’s eyes were closed as TJ eliminated the space between them, and suddenly it was just the smell of books and the slight taste of lemonade and the feeling of Cyrus’s lips pressed against his. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ah we love that overused sweatshirt-sharing cliché
> 
> thanks for reading :)
> 
> comment to let me know if you want an epilogue where they address the stuff with a conversation after the kiss. originally the story felt incomplete to me, but after finally going back to edit it, i kind of like where it is now. 
> 
> consider leaving comments/kudos because finals are in a week and validation on the internet gives me an false sense of "okay my life isn't a tOtal mess"


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